Painting the Roses Red
by Sally Cheffon
Summary: Amelia has always craved normality, something fate won't let her have. But when the rash actions of her alter personality ends her up in Gotham (and later Arkham), it seems she's doomed to always be alone. Good thing Jonathan is there to either help or torture her. And who can forget Edward Nygma, the ever charming genius who has stolen all three of her bickering hearts?
1. Chapter 1

**I had a variation of this story up a while ago. I didn't like how it turned out, (all two chapters) and decided to delete it and start over fresh. Hopefully this time it will be better. It's like a medley from all the Batman mediums, not just the comics.**

**I only own the multiple personalities of Amelia Wayside.**

**. . .**

_Lizzie _

The bristle brush is too old for scrubbing down blood stains. It's a bulking design not made for long term use, its wooden handle is awkward under my palm. The bristles are plastic. Some of them fall out onto the sud piles. All ends are frayed and dirty. Edith will never by a new one to go into the tin bucket under my cot. All us girls in the North wing have our own personal artillery of cleaning supplies. June has a broom under her bed, under mine is a mop, one bucket, and of course this damned brush.

I let the brush clack to the ground in the pink suds. Some poor girl had been working in the kitchen, she sliced her something open. Word has it there was blood on the _ceiling_. The ceiling! And guess who Edith decided should clean up the fifty foot trail? The mop had decided to be vacant, probably in Edith's favorite hiding place. After working the kinks from my wrist I get back to it. I take a second to look at the bucket three feet to my rear left.

"Your turn, Amelia." Edith didn't let us have aprons. According to her we would hang ourselves with them. My only other dress was the one reserved for nicer occasions. Unless the soap and blood comes out of this one, the pink one will be ruined pretty soon, too.

_"But we're finished." _I'm glad she's actually paying attention to our awaiting paradise. I'd been so caught up in my cracked knuckles to see that all the blood was gone. My knees are cold against the wet tiles. Those hurt, too. Along with my wrists, head, ankles, neck, back, eyes, shoulders, fingers, knuckles, and pretty much everything else on my body. Hell, my left ear hurts. Even my nose is burning from the bleach.

"Can you take over for a bit? I kind of want to take a-" Suddenly, a bony hand is holding my wrist. The brush clatters to the floor. His hand is like a spider. long, knobby fingers hold me in an iron grip. I wanna vomit up Bathory's lunch. "Hello, Dr. Hyde."

"How is your day, Amelia?" I feel the mentioned girl curl up in the deepest part of my mind. Amelia begins sending out wary vibes. None of us like this guy. Amelia shudders, I screw up my face, and Bathory wants to kick him in the balls.

"Amelia checked out hours ago. I haven't heard her since." I'm lying. It's Bathory who is hiding deep inside. Dr. Hyde's grip tightens.

"Don't sass me, Ms. Wayward."

"It's Wayside, sir." The false formality sickens me. I can't stand to refer to him as a respectable elder. His voice is very slimy against my skin. Each little puff of breath makes me want the shower.

"That's enough, Mr. Hyde." I yank free. I'll thank Jane later. We share a brief nod on my way out of the hall. Her short blond hair reminds me of an apple or bowl. It doesn't frame her face well. Some of the other girls will laugh at her in passing, calling her a "girly man". I don't think she's that unattractive.

"Thank you." I whisper, probably not loud enough for her to hear.

The bathrooms are what you'd expect from an all girls asylum. Saint Mary's was once a place for battered women and their children. Time turned it into the St. Mary's Home for Troubled Women. Mostly teens and young adults. The bathrooms aren't too messy, just old. There is a row of horrible showers along the back walls, bathtubs to the right. All paint is chipping, mildew growing on the already yellow shower curtains. There are three inches of scum on the tiles.

I can't even see into the mirror unless I'm a few inches from it. The gray ribbons of light wash me out like everything else in this drab place. White eyelashes, white skin, white eyebrows, and naturally white hair. No, I'm not an old lady. And my hair hasn't turned white from stress. This description, the long pointed nose, large bugging eyes, and pale features, is what I see when I'm three inches from the mirror. My cheeks and neck are always blotched pink, as if I'm blushing. These rosy spots are all over my stick-figure body. I'm the personality that doesn't like to eat, and Amelia usually just picks at her food. I hate to say it, but our body is unhealthy. Because I have little melanin, my eyes are such a pale blue you can sometimes see my blood vessels, turning them lavender under strong lights. I think they're pretty, Edith thinks they're evil.

And no, albinism does not make me a sharp shooter. In fact, we can't see for shit. Well most of the time. Some glasses could probably fix me enough to see a few feet. It's better than what the typical staple of my condition is; blind as a bat.

I move closer to the singular full body mirror and pull off my clothes. Knobby knees, rail-like arms, and noticeable bones. My skin is paper-thin, showing off bruise colored veins. They branch around, running down my body like roads. More blotches.

Then comes the _marks. _They're on my thighs and belly. Against my translucent skin, the silvery blue stretch marks are shown off. It's from the dramatic loss of weight I faced when Edith locked me up in here.

"What are you doing in here?" I recognize the cold, clipped voice. Edith.

"I-I needed a shower." I try to find her eyes, only to have a featureless outline of a true witch. She takes two steps forward, dress swishing around her ankles. My shirt almost choked me when I pulled it on. Platinum hair tickles my face.

She stalks around me, eyes judging me. "I take it you finished scrubbing. Jane had to take your bucket, lazy girl."

"Dr. Hyde was-"

"Go outside. I need wood for my fireplace."

I walk out to my doom.

. . .

"You're doing it wrong!" I drive the axe into the wood. Edith's demon screech almost makes me miss my mark.

"Wh-" Around her, I blubber like an idiot. Edith does this. She has a way of sucking all the intelligence from those around her. She shocks me in a way.

Her fingers not in her skirt, the other hand at the ready. My step mother is three feet away.

My own fingers tighten around the hatchet's handle. I try and fight back, but Bathory is coming out. She's straining our eyes and approaching Edith.

Then I, Lizzie Borden, am gone.


	2. Chapter 2

** Thank_ you so much for the follows!_**

**_And don't forget to review! Just so you know, I love constructive criticism. _**

**_Oh, and I'm terrible at poetry, sorry. Amelia needs a hobby, what can I say. _**

**_I wrote this chapter while an adorable mini rex rabbit was stepping on my keyboard. Any mistakes can be blamed on an annoyingly cute Hazel._**

**_I resurrected Bob Kane and now own Batman. _**

Twenty-seven rose bushes,  
Running 'long a fence.  
Daddy's buying Kinder Eggs,  
Ninety-nine pence.

Oh, god. I've messed up again.  
"Go pick the next." She says with a sneer.  
Rain pours down, thorns grow near.

Barbs of metal, thorns of wood.  
Fingers stained of blood and dirt,  
Entwined ties, wires and rose,  
Mama loved this place, years ago.  
Now it's all the hurt.

Yank and pull.  
Push and cry.  
Hard to believe I was only five.

So I walk back,  
Run my hand down a horse's mane,  
Bush in hand, hand in pain.  
And for the first time I disconnect.

. . .

It doesn't have to make sense to anybody but me. I don't expect for somebody to pick up the notebook and instantly understand what happened. Perhaps I'm underestimating others. Others who are smarter, more normal. It's just my elicit attitude that makes me think my little thoughts are so unbelievably Shakespearian and beautiful, something to make people teary eyed when read. Bullshit.

They say I'm a host. The original personality, the one my body was born with. "The one my body was born with", my god, how impersonal. Something about it rubs me the wrong way.

Amelia Wayside, the exhausted host.

Lizzie Borden, the one who protects me from Edith's destructive need for perfection.

Elizabeth Bathory, no frigging clue. I guess she's there to represent anger I've felt towards the kids at school, my hatred to a world I'd never experience after graduation, because I never graduated. I've been in St. Mary's since senior prom.

I figured all this out in the fifth grade, I didn't need a psychiatrist to help me understand.

The diner I'm in is old. Old, ugly, and dirty. A fly buzzes in my ear when I push open the door, the cold air washing over my drenched skin like a bucket of freezing water. It's a wet, thick air, like what you'd expect to feel on another planet. At least it isn't the coastal wind thudding against the windows.

_How Dare You._

_I'd say you're kind of glad. You don't sound upset, and I think Aims has gone into another "Episode". Haven't heard her since Bedly._

_"Shut up!" _I'm tired of listening to them gripe. It's the same thing every. Single. Day. All they do is argue, and it annoys me when they mention me. I start to fiddle with the newspaper's edges.

_Amelia and I had nothing to do with what you did. _Lizzie's voice is frozen.

_Hey girls, look at the paper. Recognize anybody?_ For some reason, I expect to see an article about me. Not even close.

A childhood friend looked back at me from the sepia page. His eyes bore over his no frame glasses, paired with his long face and messy hair. Once upon a time we'd run in the cornfields, and when his grandmother was away, we'd explore the deepest corridors of his house. _House_, mind you. Definitely not _home_. Jonathan Crane glares at me with the eyes I know are a gorgeous light blue.

"Johnny. . ." I run my hand over the headline.

_Scarecrow Back in Arkham_

_That's not Johnny, Amelia. That's-_

_A very good idea. ._ . I feel Elizabeth focus on the words "Gotham" and "Rogue".

_No. Hell no. NONONONONONONONO._

_Shut up,_ _Liz'beth._ My mind feels a little less crowded. B has a way with pushing personalities away.

I know Elizabeth's scheme right away. But I'm a good person! I'd fail at crime and get carted off to Blackgate, or worse, Arkham. After St. Mary's, I'm done with psychiatric hospitals that focus more on punishment than help.

_Oh, come on!_ I cringe. _I'm not the only one involved in the little incident. Little Miss Perfect in here stole the keys, you drove the getaway car. _

"I did nothing wrong. . ." I say aloud, mumbling.

_Hmm, let's count, shall we? You attack a woman with a fire poker. . ._

_"Protection." _I tell her.

_Plus that one time you kicked Granny Keeny._

I must look so stupid, staring down into my coffee. _"She slapped Johnny, and that was you."_

She sighs. _Sure, blame the personality that didn't appear until you grasped the concept of revenge. That was all you._

In a way I hate to admit, she's right. God, I hate when that happens.

_You killed a woman, and I don't care what you say; you and liz could've easily taken over or blocked me out. You wanted it to happen. We could do something in Gotham. Lizzie could prove her intelligence and whatever, you can get attention, and I get revenge for all of us._

I fiddle with my napkin like an awkward school girl. _"Not all attention is good attention."_

_But it's something. It's nice that you right your situations out in a journal, but that isn't showing anyone. They need to understand what they did to us._

While I pondered on the anonymous They, Elizabeth grins maliciously.

_I'm taking us places._


	3. Chapter 3

**AhNaun- Thank you for the lovely review! I've written since the first grade - Fanfiction is my practice. And I think OCs are a great doorway into original fiction, despite people calling it unoriginal. It's fun to create interesting characters and fit them into a canon story! I'll work on the longer chapters, and here's an update. :)**

**When describing the hair, I had in mind a red version of Hayley William's hair from the _Playing God _video. Where she poisons the tea.**

**Now on with the show!**

_Amelia_

"Our blood is stained red by our sins." Edith once told me from her seat on the couch.

My prom dress was red. As was the blood that spotted the carpet around me. Edith hated the color, saying it symbolized the fires of Hell. To her it was the color of premarital sex that only whores wore in the road house's parking lots. Now, just to spite her, I'm entering my first stage of rebellion:

Dying my hair some crazy color not found in nature.

I slacken my jaw and stare into the mirror. The hair dresser runs her fingers through my hair. The woman could lull me to sleep.

"Are you sure? I know plenty of people who would kill for your hair." I reconsider for a second. Am I a bit old for this? Would bright red hair be too noticeable, even in Gotham? Say I change my mind after a few days; would the color come out with bleach, leaving my earlier lack of color? With my rotten luck, it would turn bright pink and fall out.

_Go for it._

_I honestly don't care. _ Lizzie sulks in the corner of my mind, grumbling like an annoyed fourteen year-old. I can't just let her sit to the side, letting this all pass through.

"How do you see yourself styling your hair?" Ah, perfect.

Lizzie, or Liz'beth, as she likes being called despite her name not having 'Beth' in it, has an odd fascination with the fifties. Something sparks inside me, obviously Lizzie wondering what I'm holding away from them.

Let's see. . . what's that hairstyle called?

"It flips up at the end and was popular in the fifties." She nods. Lizzie perks up a little, pushing for a peek.

_Barbie flip. It's called a Barbie flip._

_And so she talks without the bitchy attitude!_ I make a horrible mistake by rolling my eyes. The hairdresser, Betty, looks at me like I'm rude. My cheeks flush red.

_"Red. Red lips. Red dress. Red eyes from running mascara, red blood."_

"The Barbie flip, with bangs." Lizzie and I say in unison.

* * *

I bind up the stairs, hair hidden under my cloche hat, hotel key in my hand. There is a bit of pep in my step as I come to room sixty. I should _not _be this upbeat, not this peaceful. Don't normal people go and cry about how they royally screwed up? Well, I'm not. My hips sway to the tune I'm humming, and once in the dusty hotel room I dump my bag out on the bed.

You see, I have a little addiction for a certain sweet banned in the States. While my dad is working over in Europe, he finds a way to send me Kinder Eggs. Forty of the chocolate eggs roll around the bed. I pick one that's about to fall off and rip open the foil wrapping.

_Your teeth are going to rot out if you keep eating those things. _Lizzie starts to lecture again. I crack the chocolate to get the yellow capsule. The toy isn't very interesting to me, I just want the delicious chocolate. One side is white, the other milk chocolate.

_Owning a banned candy; another bad thing you do, Miss "But I'm a Good_ Person!" I resist the urge to face palm them from my mind.

"I wonder why Kinder Eggs are banned for having an inedible item in them, but fortune cookies aren't." I toss my hat to the other corner of the room. Happiness. I feel. . . happiness. Oh, sweet relief! Good riddance of you, dear Edith. No more will I have to deal with you, the Wicked Witch of the West, Maleficent, the true, real world example of the Wicked Step Mother. Never will you slap me with your hands, my skin will never be marked by my mother's rose bushes. Perhaps the ones you made me pull up will grow back with their red petals just to spite you, much in the way that I did.

While you, evil witch, are rotting in the ground, I'll rise and show the world that you could not force me away. You tried to lock me in a corner, tried to domesticate me into being a simpering idiot you could exert your power over. And guess what? You're back in Georgia, twenty blows in your head and twenty-one in your torso.

_Are you mentally attacking a dead woman?_

_Yes, yes she is._

_And you call _me crazy.

A wall isn't too hard to form. Nothing is better than peace and quiet.

I start gathering my stuff up, as I'll probably be here a while. Let's see. Chocolates go into the bedside table for those midnight cravings along with my glasses. The little built-in telescope reminds me how "blind" and "criminal" go together like spaghetti and chocolate.

The next morning is terrible.

First I fall down the stairs because I'm too hyper to take the elevator. After inspecting my arm for scrapes or bruises, I run into somebody holding a steaming cup. Coffee was all over him, not a drop on me. Because that wasn't enough, the wind stole my sun hat (a large thing with a black bow reserved for bright days). It goes spinning into an alley.

The hat is missing when I reach the alleyway's mouth. Old doors for old buildings line the two walls, growing closer to the brick end. I step around, looking behind tipped garbage cans and under a single car. No hat here.

A flash of ribbon later, I'm on my knees at a window well. The hat teeters on the edge of staying put and falling into the open window and down into the shadowy depths of a basement. A wisp of air sends it drifting down.

"God damn it." I hiss. For all I know, this place is abandoned. I'll never get my hat back, and my upper body will suffer the sunburn.

_Language, language. _Lizzie forces my gaze to the store's sign. _It's a tailor, and looks pretty well-kept. Perhaps someone could help._

_ "Maybe you should take over and ask." _No use in hiding my bitterness. I might have ticked her off, because she goes back to sulking.

_We should get a pet._

_No._

My hand at the ready, I stare into the shop. There are rows of clothes. Some are in protective bagging or hanging freely on fancy, non-wire hangers. The place is positively lifeless. It radiates a feeling of dread. "Leave," it says, "or else." All the lights are on and they draw me near. I push the handle and step in.

"Excuse me?" I call politely. Jitters run along my spine as I stand awkwardly still. "Hello?" Nothing. Even the dust motes made me feel uneven. Sweat forms on my forehead, sticks to my collar, which feels too tight. My shirt is suddenly a size too small.

_Something's going to happen. Something bad. _I accidentally touch a silky fabric. It's a vest of the most peculiar color, and behind it hangs a purple suit. Who would need a green waistcoat?

_The Joker._

I don't know where it comes from. Me? Liz? Bathory? It resonates deep in my back as a horrible combination of all of us, voices taking from the darkest moments. Lizzie is almost breathless, Bathory straining with a burning need to be tough or intimidating. I sound choked up, about to croak or crack like the pathetic wimp I am. That word tells a word that we all recognize, all fear.

_Crazy, we're among crazy._ I'm not crazy. The anonymous _"They" _did this to me. It's a combined result of myself and THEM.

I don't see the shadow until it's hovering over my limp body. I'd recognize the glint on the rim of his glasses, the thin body he'd always have. That body I saw glaring at me from the pages of the paper. My childhood friend, an Arkham patient, a _crazy._

"Jonathan?"


	4. Chapter 4

Not** a Moose I'm glad you noticed the reference! Carrie is the book that made me start writing beyond just short stories, and was my first Stephen King novel. I stared thinking about Amelia's back story and realized how similar the two are. Oops, I guess I'm a subconscious plagiarist. There is another rogue in this chapter, one I was very excited to write about ;).**

**Book Lover-Thank you!**

**I don't own Batman, enjoy my horrible attempt at writing Jonathan and Edward.**

_Elizabeth _

Many a times I've had to jump in and save my floundering cohorts. There's when I kicked that old woman (Shhhh, don't tell Aims I lied!), when I royally butchered Edith (Now _that _was fun.), and just five seconds ago. Amy did a panicked one-eighty, probably repeating nope over and over again. The tall, dark, nerdy dressed man stares down at me with cold blue eyes. He's tall and thin as ever, messy red hair atop his head. Funny, wasn't it brown?

I climb to my feet. It's an awkward task, especially in a hobble skirt.

"Who are you?" Well hello to you too!

"You don't remember me, Johnny Boy? I only saved you from that group of bullies that one time." I pocket my hands. "Then again, that wasn't _me _exactly."

_You're going to get us killed! _

_Shut up, I've got this._

_"Uh huh." _Amy says, drawing out her words. _"You're not as charming as you think you are." _

_Yes, yes I am._ She sighs and I smile.

"I'm afraid I don't." The guy sounds frigid as hell. The tweed wearing man probably hasn't been laid in years. For a second I'm almost frightened by his cold exterior. Almost.

A man steps from behind Jonathan. He's shorter than me, truly a terrific feat. In his hand is a broom stick. And so I find the villainous head-whacker.

"What was it your grandma called me?" I pluck the broom from the dark-skinned man's hand. "I believe it was-" I try to break the broom handle on my knee. I fail miserably. "'Little albino freak.'" My little folly is noticed; Jon lifts his eyebrows in amusement and Broom Boy relaxes a bit after a good chuckle.

_Ha ha!_

_At least I can admit when I_ _fail._ That shuts her up. If there is one thing Liz hates, it's having her flaws pointed out.

"What are you doing here, Amelia?" It wasn't what I was expecting. I know, Jon isn't one for happiness, but a little recognition in his voice would be nice.

"Johnny, I'm wounded! I thought you knew me!" Is that a bit over dramatic? Who am I kidding, melodrama is a thing for me. Like Amy's sad moods or Lizzie's good little house wife complex. "It's Bathory, actually. Elizabeth Bathory. Shaken, not stirred." My Bond impersonation does not amuse the ever serious, and I quote, "God of Fear". I don't know why, but his self-given nickname cracks me up. "I'm actually a part of her."

_"Shut up! I don't like telling this kind of stuff to people I've just met!" _Amelia gripes.

_But you do know him._

_We knew Jonathan Keeny. This is some crazy person who's willing to psychologically torment anything that moves!_

_He can't be anymore psychologically tormenting than you are. _

"I seem to remember another personality, one that was much less aggravatingly chipper." He takes the broom in the gloved hand. "Then again, that was a very long time ago." Not a smile, not even a slight amusement to meet his only childhood friend. Friend_s_, if you count the two dingbats. Just cold disinterest.

"We didn't talk much, me and you."

_"You and I." _

I mutter a quick reply. "As I said, what are you doing here?" I can't help but glare at him.

_Being dragged along by a psycho._

_"Being brainwashed into a life of crime by the most annoying personality I've ever met."_

"I want to be a criminal." I straighten up. "Like you."

"Go home, Amelia." I stop. What did he just say?

"Home? You mean Arlen?" I try to reconstruct my shattered composure. Amelia starts up a panic attack and Lizzie frowns deeply. Lucky bitches are undetectable by radar, I have to stand here and save us. "I can't go-"

"Excuse me for interrupting, but who are you?" Broom boy takes a few steps into me and Jonathan's circle of discomfort.

_Jonathan and I._

Yeah, whatever.

"It's none of your concern, Daren." he says. "Just a reunion between friends." Sure, Spooky. You're bitter tone and cold eyes definitely scream happiness over an unexpected meeting.

"You don't sound very thrilled to see me." Crap, another little slip up most likely to come from the other two. Of course he wouldn't be happy to see me! I'm a reminder of the nine circles of Hell he had to go through as a small boy. Memories of the day I decided to stay inside come rushing in. The gang of bullies kept calling me Paper all morning, the girls threatening to do something gruesome. A little bird told me that they wanted to take a peach marker and "Color me in." I had never really talked to Johnny before that recess period.

_"Why are you inside?" _he asks, coming to sit in the chair next to me.

_"Idiots. I'm in here because of the idiots."_

"I think it would be best if you returned to Arlen." My entire body droops.

"But. . . I killed her." I sink into a nearby chair.

"Killed who?" Daren stands by awkwardly.

"Edith."

Silence. There isn't much to say. "If I go back they'll lock me up. I wouldn't be put in St. Mary's, they'd send me to jail."

"You could be locked up here, too. Arkham, despite what the media says, is not a get out of jail free card." Johnny puts a finger to one of the needles until the skin brakes.

"It's worth it."

"You don't even know where to start." I stand up with dignity,

"Actually, I do." I smile proudly with my hands on my hips. "There's a jewelry store down the street. Real first class place."

"You talkin' 'bout Simon's? I know the guy." Daren starts filing through on of the clothes racks.

"So I take it you'll object to my plans."

"I stay out of my clients' business."

"What do you do, exactly?" I subconsciously twirl a strand of hair.

"I make things. Clothes, weapons, Freddy Krueger gloves." He looks at Jonathan. "I'm the resident handy man."

"I see." A ray of sunlight glares into my eyes. It seems I've forgotten the main reason for coming in here. "Hey, my hat fell into your basement. You wouldn't mind if I got it back, would you?"

"Nah, it's fine. You can pay me later, Crane." He leaves without a good bye.

"He's a lot colder than I remembered him being." I say as Daren starts leading me across the room.

We eventually come to an old wooden door. "Things change when you come to Gotham. If you want to play this game you'll have to know that." I can only nod. Down the steps we go, two at a time until our feet hit cold concrete. The basement smells like cobwebs and dust. Is that a legit smell? I don't know.

"Good to know." I see my hat not too far off from where we're standing. I guarantee that around fifteen spiders have laid their eggs on it.

"So, do you have an identity yet?"

"Yes. I'm Elizabeth Bathory and I'm another state of a clinically depressed girl named Amelia Wayside. She's quite annoying." I don't even try to hide my smart ass attitude.

_"Gee, thanks."_

_Welcome, doll face!_

"No, I meant a shtick. Like the Scarecrow, Mad Hatter, Calendar Man."

I giggle. "Calendar Man? I think the guy was stoned when he came up with that one."

"Well, you need an identity to keep yourself safe." I pick up the hat then brush off the dust.

"If they know me they know me. I'm not exactly on any body's suspect list." I stare up into the window. Fresh air swirls around the copious amount of dust. "I want people to know _me_, not some weird identity."

"Do you at least have a staple? If you wanna be noticed you gotta have a gimmick."

"What else but my charming personality?" I smile up at him.

"Okay, fine." I can tell I'm boring him. Me? Boring? Never! "What will your costume be?"

"Yoga pants and a pair of sneakers?"

"No no no. If you want to be a rogue you gotta have an image. Come with me."

Oh great. Clothes shopping. Wheww fucking who.

_I'm taking over. Last time you picked out clothes I had to walk around in pants so tight I'm surprised we could sit down._

Yeah, whatever.

* * *

"I fucking hate you."

_Bad language is just another sign of ignorance. _Lizzie the Smug turns up her nose. What she should be doing is hiding in a corner. The dress is long; ending about a foot below the knee.

_Actually it's about five inches. _Yeah, whatever.

It's all high necked and silky material in royal blue. I feel all costumed up. My feet are in heels (I call them foot stilts.), hair in that silly flip, a pill hat topping it all off, and lips painted a bright red. This is not what you wear when you plan on kicking ass and taking precious jewels. I don't see myself robbing a bank in this.

My weapon is a hatchet I keep tucked inside my brand new trench coat courtesy of Daren Wighcuff. We all agree that a gun would be impersonal.

_Let's go you pathetic_ losers.

_We'd rather not. _

_"Yeah. So we go out there and get caught. Then what? Rot in Black Gate? Hell no."_

I adjust myself in the mirror. "Of course not! We'd be put in Arkham, obviously."

_I can't stand you. _I can picture miss Liz'Beth clawing her hands, glaring at nothing.

"Hm, what's it called when you hate yourself? I believe it's a crippling self-esteem issue." I push in my earrings before walking out into the hallway.

_"We're taking the elevator this time."_

. . .

_Holy hell_

_Mother of pearl._

_"Mother of sparkle."_

Diamonds glitter under the display lights like an ungodly fever dream. White gold and normal gold shine away in the dimly lit store. Rich folks walk around me with no regards. A beautiful necklace catches my eye. Four rows of small diamonds lead to a gold rimmed opal cameo.

_It's beautiful. . . _ Lizzie breathes. She's right. Beautifully, gorgeously, heavenly right.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" I nearly fall back into an old lady in a mink wrap. A worker is staring at me with eyes just as sparkling as the jewels.

I'm not sure how to proceed. Being me, I wanted this to be big and dramatic; consequences aside. "Well-"

"Everybody down!" The fuck? I'd like to think that the loud pop is just some really big bubble wrap. But no, it just has to be a gun. Okay, so there's two guys at the front of the store in the weirdest outfits I've ever seen. Goon number one has his gun pointed towards the ceiling, the other is targeting on the panicking crowd. I've been too far out of the loop to know what kind of guns they are.

On their chests is a green question mark. Something about it is familiar. They stand in front of a very greenly dressed guy who radiates arrogance.

_The Riddler. _Thanks, Liz, for the obvious.

"Hello, Gothamites." I shiver. Me. Elizabeth Bathory, named after the countess who murdered countless young ladies in order to bathe in their blood, shivers at the sound of this douche nozzle's slimy voice. He steps by the two men, swinging his signature cane and whistling. "I'll say this simply so it won't hurt your primitive brains."

Stereotypical goon number two pushes down on my shoulder. Oh, so I'm the only one brave enough to stay standing.

_Or the one scared so witless she can't move._

_Oh, shut up. I'm screwed enough wi__thout you_ _nagging._

"If you know what's good for you-" I bring the hatchet from it's special compartment. It's nothing special, just a large pocket to hold my weapon.

"What were you saying?" I ask innocently.

"A sign of love, a sign of greed. I come from the dark, but am a part of spring. What am I?"

"It's a diamond, isn't it?" I take off my coat and toss it at the man beside me. "Diamonds are in engagement rings, they're a sign of wealth, they come from the ground and is the birth stone of April. Plus we're in a jewelry store. Pretty obvious."

I approach him, twirling the axe. He meets me halfway.

"That was far too easy." I'm suddenly pressed into the display case. Everybody is either looking at me or in their laps."

The end of the cane pushes my chin up.

"Damn right it was." I snide, pushing away his weapon.

_Are you trying to kill yourself?_

_"Here lies Amelia Wayside, who was bludgeoned to death by a question mark cane after royally pissing off a super criminal."_

"You see, this was _my _heist before you interrupted it." I bust a case to prove my point. Sparkling shards of glass mix in with the diamonds in a strangely beautiful peace of artwork. The little flecks of light stand out on the red velvet they lay on. I grab for the necklace. "So I'd recommend you leave."

"It isn't that easy, you see." He clasps his hands behind his back and smiles dangerously. That smirk is much more toxic than a glare. "I've been planning this for some time now. It's all been perfectly orchestrated."

"Yeah, lady. The boss tipped off the police. It's official." Whoa whoa whoa, back the crazy train up because I obviously failed to get on. This idiot did what?

"You told the police?" I nearly screamed. A sudden blare of sirens told me that he did. Great, perfect timing.

"No no no no no. It's much more brilliant than that." He loops the cane around my waist and begins walking me towards the back door. "I _riddled _them. It's my own personal challenge to see if they are intelligent enough to stop me."

"Well, Mr. Suave Leprechaun, they've obviously cracked your riddle." The greed in me breaks in another case and grabs for all the jewelry I can. "Now if you'll excuse me, I don't plan on being locked up again."

_Suave leprechaun?_

_He's the ginger who decided to wear a green suit._

And so I run.


	5. Chapter 5

**Book Lover - I got the idea for that little remark from a friend:**

**So we're sitting in my bedroom, her on the bed and I on the floor. Minecraft is on both of our computer screens. After a tragic run in with a creeper, I look upon my bed and say the words of truth. "Ginger's are sexy in green."**

**She looks down at me, blue and purple bangs ending at her black rimmed glasses. "So you have a leprechaun fetish?"**

**Not a Mouse I absolutely love your lengthy reviews. They let me know what I'm doing wrong or right. You should get an account and write some stories. I'd read them! I think people don't like it because they feel she's a Mary-Sue, which I totally buy. She's kind of annoying and overdramatic in every aspect. Dark back story, angst, wit, unnatural hair color, weird disability/disorder, et cetera. I'm just saying, she ticks off a few boxes in the Sue department. **

**Well, I'm glad you like Elizabeth. While she is my favorite personality she's a bitch to write. I try to go for the charming yet mildly obnoxious angle, ya know? **

**Reviews speed up updates! :)**

* * *

Swish swish the switches go.  
For the first time I pray.  
Drip drop the blood goes.  
The scars are here to stay.

The crows they flap,  
And Johnny screams.  
The white ghosts stares,  
She's in a dream.

She calls out "Demon."  
The ghost cannot move.  
I couldn't move.  
Oh my god, I could not move.

Hot and muggy.  
Georgia sky.  
Waist deep in a black berry bush,  
Just more cuts on my thighs.

I'm sorry I ran, Johnny. If it helps, I cried for both of us.

_Lizzie_

Edith came into my life when I was no more than five. She came up the walk with a bag of treats under her arm and a smile gracing the world. At the time she looked like an angel, a carbon copy of Mama. The leaves in the trees whistled with an oncoming Georgia storm. Wind kicked sand up into the air. It got caked in the corners of your eyes then settled in the crevices of earlobes. The only reason I was out there was because Daddy made me meet her on the front steps. I loved days like this, when I didn't need a hat to go outside. Dark orange clouds fuzzed out the sun and everything had a smudged look.

We lived on a beautiful estate one cornfield from the Keeny house. Rumors told of an old witch who took care of a boy made from straw. Years turned those kiddy fairytales into a very sad reality. How strange is it that two tormented children would end up living next to one another?

There was no grass in our yard. Healthy narcissuses led up to an equally yellow clapboard house. Daddy and daughter stood atop the wrap around porch. We needed to replace the bottom step after painting the railing. The wooden porch swing swayed dangerously. It truly was the smiling devil dragging in a storm.

"Hello, Alex."

I would definitely be staying with Amelia for a while.

When she'd beat Amelia, B, or myself she would look down upon us, blond hair hanging down in curled clumps. Her work gloves morphed around the rose bush. My mother grew those, and that was the fifth one she made me pull up by hand.

"I'm sorry. Go and take a shower." I'd crawl up too slowly for her liking. "I said go!"

"If I can find you this easy so can the Batman." I nearly jump out of my flesh. Jonathan enjoys this reaction, naturally. He's skinny as ever, dressed in a tweed jacket and dark jeans. The man needs a good meal. The purple around his eyes tell me he needs sleep, too. My motherly side immediately begins to fret. Oh dear, Jonathan's gonna work himself to death.

I sigh lightly and finish taping my little message to the window. "Hello, Jona- Mr. Crane." I smile away the flub. "Sorry, old habit."

"I prefer _Dr. _Crane." He reminds me of Mr. Nygma in a way. Both have an egotistical streak and are renowned for their wasted genius. Imagine what they could have been if crime hadn't approached them with golden claws. What could I, the blind girl who spent years in a mental asylum, do for the world?

_I bet they're buddy-buddy in Arkham._ Elizabeth says from her place deep in the back of my mind. The lazy woman is constantly lounging around as if she's the most important thing in the universe. She'd fit right in with Nygma and Crane, all self entitled, feeling the need to control who deserves to be prosecuted because they spent a life being pushed down until all they wanted was a little control over something. How weak, selfish, _vain. _They don't realize that power doesn't have to come from oppressing others.

"And why would calling me Jonathan be an old habit?" he pries. "We haven't spoken in years."

I can't tell him about how he had never left my mind. A friend once is always a friend, even when it's only in one person's eyes. While Jonathan went to teach psychology and eventually torment others, I stayed behind and followed him along in spirit. Back in high school, before everything in our lives reached a depressing climax, I had an unrequited crush on my only friend. Sadly he was in the same situation in that field too. I'll never stop blaming Sherry Squires. While Edith molded Amelia into an angry ball waiting to explode, Sherrie tipped Jonathan over the edge. Yet I still think it's a shame she had to die. At times I think it should've been me who passed away that night. I wouldn't have to deal with the impending years of hell.

And so when discussing the past or present with Amelia or Elizabeth, I'll always call him Jonathan. The little scarecrow, the scrawny freak. In the desperate corners of my being I want him to remember Amelia. I know he never did.

I'm wearing the necklace from last night. By God I feel so dirty keeping the jewelry. The rings alone (I'd grabbed five) are worth up to around five thousand each. Compare that to the diamond necklaces and my head begins to spin. So much money sitting on my shoddy bedside table, one of those expensive items around my neck. I want to vomit when my fingers subconsciously touch the small line of diamonds. So she robs a jewelry store. What next? I think Elizabeth has her eyes set on the Second National Bank. Robbing is just petty crimes to me. I turn to the shop.

After Edith ruined the word 'sorry' for me, I never used it. Sorry is a halfway apology, filled with little remorse. It takes a certain someone to recognize what they did wrong and admit it. But sometimes, when it's taped to an empty jewelry store window, it's the greatest word. It speaks in its simplicity.

"I-I don't know." My eyes are downcast. "Time feels so weird-" I leave the statement hanging. The only way I can finish it is by exploiting my disorder. There will always be times when one of us will be out of control for days on end. When back the world feels sped up, I feel displaced. There are clothes I would never wear in the dresser and Edith is lecturing about something Amelia did. Then again, she's always griping about us. Time feels so weird when you're jumping through time like a Time Lord.

_What did you say about my wonderful plans?_ Something wicked this way comes.

_They're petty. What does simple theft have to do with us as a person? _

_Got any ideas, Princess? The suggestion bar's open._ I visibly roll m

Come on B, just look at this place! Gotham is filled with once stately buildings that are now browned and crumbling. Iron or garbage is around every corner. The sky may be clear but it isn't a very nice clear. It makes you feel small, like a distant ceiling. Perhaps we're all just rats running around our maze of buildings. It feels odd being deep in the cracks of a big city. We could do something big that would lift us above the maze's walls. She needs to realize that crime is an art form, and while I don't condone it, I at least want it to mean something. The Joker does it for laughs, Poison Ivy fights for her ideas about the environment, and that guy from last night. . .

I think Mr. Riddler sees this all as performance art. What he said about the whole thing being perfectly orchestrated makes sense. A guy as flamboyant as him wouldn't just do this for a living. The inner psychiatrist in me thinks he feels the need to. A compulsion, if you will. If that's the case, we share the same viewpoint-

If we're having to do the crimes at least make a show out of it.

What I'm saying is, we need a reason. An idea to convey.

_How about one that says "Don't fuck with us"?_ I really wish she'd stop using that language.

"They're talking to you, aren't they?" Jonathan steps around the curb with a condescending look in his eyes. Everything about them is studying each fiber of my being.

"Who?" My innocently blissful act doesn't work. God damn it.

"Don't deny it, Ms. Wayside. You forget that I studied psychology. I've dealt with many dissociative identity disorder sufferers." A gentle hand on the shoulder nearly makes me faint. Golly, my heart goes all a flutter and I bet my cheeks burn red. It sure feels like they are.

"I thought you knew about it when we were kids." I talk in a hushed tone. I'm not used to people reading me like this, so negatively. My whole life I've worked for what Amelia would never be. She created something that would please Edith as well as the world. And so I strived to be perfect at everything because people like perfection. And you know what? For a while they did like me. Those were the best days. People would congratulate me in track, art, tap, and orchestra. But you see, that would never be enough. When I messed up, everyone saw it. Remember, people only remember the flawed.

"We were young. Have you talked to anyone about it?" I can hear him go into doctor mode. It's a much more enjoyable side.

"Does shock therapy count?" He starts walking with me down the street. People wander by as if two criminals weren't talking together.

"No. I think we should have a session." Jon says, adjusting his coat.

"A what?" I nearly laugh. This resident of Arkham would probably set me up for failure.

"A session. I'd like to see the intensity of your disorder."

* * *

To those who care,

I'd recommend you evacuate Bekker Street at approximately ten P. M. Five bombs will be strategically placed in five different stores.

Clear out unless you want chaos.

Sincerely,

L. E. A.


	6. Chapter 6

**AnnaMNR- I try, I try. I'm glad I've peaked your interest.**

**AssasinsCreedFAN- Tis alright, Riddler fan rants are always justified XD. It's reviews like this that keep me going. **

**BookLover- Patience, young grasshopper. All in good time. **

**Thank you for the follows!**

_Amelia_

I never wanted to watch the world burn.

We started with a jewelry store and moved on to antiques. Museum robbery and Elizabeth singing that damn Drake song over and over and over and over and-

_Started from the bottom now we're here!_

Mother fucker.

_Started from the bottom now my whole team fuckin' here, n-_

_Language, ladies. Need I remind you the importance of being refined? _I sigh and focus on the money. 'Member Aims, remember the cash you could get. Elizabeth has hammered all the things I should be focusing on, and while I still feel like a puppet to myself I'm starting to fall for it. The notoriety, cash, smugness. . .

Oh, that little bomb threat? A simple rues to cause commotion in the police force. They'll be off waiting for the fireworks while I make off with Napoleon Bonaparte's sword. It looks like France won't be receiving it back. A national treasure is worth a lot of money, money I'll be happy to use in my beginnings of a new life. Elizabeth can enjoy the criminal life for now, but as soon as this baby is sold we'll be settled in Maine.

_Why Maine? I like Gotham._

_"It's too gross for me. I don't like tripping over a homeless guy when I step out the door." _

I'm catching a certain theme in my clothing. Poofy skirts paired with a corset style top, lots of darker colors. My current dress is a deep navy pinstripe. Darren said that the fabric didn't stain with blood, and the corset style top offers, "A bullet proof shell with amazing support and mobility." I don't care what it can do. It looks better than that old lady outfit Lizzie forced me into.

_It was classy. . . _she sulks. This dress tightens around my waist, laces in the back, is strapless, and, I must admit, shows off a bit of cleavage. I feel dangerous, sexy. All those things people said I'd never be. Now I just need to work on my curves and I can be like that clown chick or Catwoman. But I refuse to squeeze myself into a dominatrix suit. My loose skirts and jazz shoes will be perfectly fine until I buy a nice house on the coast. I can already smell the sea salt, almost taste the lobster. There was a book I enjoyed as a girl called _Sarah Plain and Tall. _A mail-order bride moved from Maine to a farm in the west. Yes, I'll be plain, tall, and I'll live in Maine. Perhaps I'll change my name. Ginger sounds pretty.

The museum is eerily quiet. Not a security guard passes me on my trail down the long display case lined corridor. The chandeliers that hang from the vaulted ceiling are lifeless, offering no warmth to the finery encased in the glass cubes. A ghost in the glass mirrors my curious, yet still cautious, movements. Eyes wander up the walls, wide and in awe. Black painted lips are parted.

City lights leak in from long windows, washing my shadow into a dark gray. The soundlessness, the cold sweat, the gentle tap of my feet, glimmering glass, shaky breaths, approaching display case. The big one. An artifact encased in glass atop a purple felt. I slip over the dipped velvet rope. Dust motes float around in the light like a dull glitter.

_How much is that thing worth?_

_The moral standing of a young woman. _Lizzie actually sounds upset. I send a mental pat on the back. Don't worry, miss. This lifestyle won't be around for long.

_But why?_ I put my hand to the cool glass. My fingers are like Dr. Hyde's in a way; pale, spidery, and cold. The knobby knuckles of my other hand tighten to a reddened fist around the hatchet. I guess I have a murderous theme going on. For starters there is the two names. They didn't have a name until around twelve years old when I sat down to watch a lame documentary, something about the evilest women in history. Two of the women, Lizzie Borden and Elizabeth Bathory, stuck in my head, and so the two bickerers in my head had been named. Pretty funny; an uptight housewife being named after an axe wielding murderer. Lord only knows what I'd call a guy alter. Jack the Ripper isn't a good introductory.

_"Because I'd like to be normal for a little while."_

_So we're not like other people?_

_Three personalities and being perpetually pale isn't normal. Plus the blindness._

_But you have to admit, we're more intelligent than the general public. _ Elizabeth's self-importance is showing again. She's wrong, letting the ego talk. My intelligence is mediocre at best.

_"Well, miss genius, how does one get the sword?"_

There is a blip in time- one moment here and the next second not. Not to worry, it only lasts a millisecond, then I'm back to the harsh reality of shattered glass and priceless artifacts.

"Put your hands where I can see them." The authoritative voice belongs to a gruff security guard dressed head to toe in a silly uniform. I didn't know the typical museum nightshift required hand guns, but this is Gotham, a city where a single misstep could get you blown up.

I do as requested, lifting my hands and the axe towards the air. There is certainly a disrespectful air to how I stand. My hip is to the side, shoulders slumped, lips curved in annoyance, as if he had interrupted my grocery shopping. Poor bloke doesn't register when I bash his head with the bunt end of my very inconvenient weapon. The guy must be new.

"Oh come on-"

"You didn't even kill him! Do you even know what you're doing?" I do a flying leap, a girly shriek echoing off the walls.

"Could ya keep it down-"

"People will hear you!" An odd duo of girls are leaning casually against a door way. Both are inconveniently dressed in the high heels and corset trend that seems to be taking the world by storm. I'll stick to my comfy dance shoes.

"Welly welly well well well, look who I've stumbled upon." I can recognize that douchey voice from anywhere. My hand finds the sword under a layer of shatter glass.

"Seriously, _this _is how you take out a body guard." I don't notice the gun until it's firing a bullet into the unconscious man. The two girls, one a busty blonde and the other a boyish pixie cut, approach who is obviously their boss. That ringing is still bouncing around the room as they walk up to me. What the hell, wasn't one encounter bad enough?


	7. Chapter 7

It's kind of hard to see a small white ball coming at you when you're blind. It's why I couldn't play baseball, tennis, softball, or even basketball. But you know what I could do?

I could run.

I was a track star in junior high and high school. I could out run all the boys, especially the ones who always mocked me for being insignificant. They told me to shut up when I had an honest idea for a group project? Well I could easily put their 100-yard dash to shame.

"Ready?" The gnats were real bad in Georgia that summer. They always stayed close to your ears just to annoy you, and when you went to swat they suddenly vanished for a small second before coming back with a vengeance. The stupid things bit, too. Kill one and another three will hide in your hair.

I picked one from my skirt. They stayed around the edges of the corn fields. Johnny worked day after day under the continuous buzzing cloud. Mrs. Keeny got to stand under her fancy parasol with her snazzy bug spray while Jonathan wiped them off his sticky forehead. My own sweat was beading on my neck. That's where my perspiring always began; right under my hair at the back of my neck. I could already feel the uncomfortable tickle on my upper lip. Speaking of hard, sweaty labor under a Georgian sun, the stables needed a good cleaning.

"I'm leaving, groceries aren't going to buy themselves." I rolled my eyes, maneuvering around in the corn stalks. Keeny didn't even see me. "And boy?"

Jonathan stopped his plowing to glare at the cynical woman's back. "Yes, Granny?"

I rolled my eyes again and mouthed the words about to come from her mouth. "And no running off with that little albino freak."

Yep, spot on.

"Set," I dug my heel into the sand. Jonathan was two rows away, preparing his long legs for a run to our private tree house.

"Go!"

* * *

_Lizzie_

I can see the green coat first, not the features that make up a human. Up close he has broad shoulders and a slim waist along with a head of slightly curly red hair along with absolutely adorable freckles, from afar he's an odd blur. The two women on his sides are the same story, but as they approach I can make out more details. I'm not so sure if I wanted to.

They're in leotards and heels, both purple. The heels, more like ankle boots, lead up to long fish netted legs which end at the revealing skin-tight one pieces.

The blond reaches me before the brunette.

"Really?" She's taller than me by a few intimidating inches. I have no doubt in my mind that these are seasoned hench girls. "Napoleon's-"

"Echo, I can handle this." His voice is suave, not douche-like. He drags out all the right vowels, puts the emphasis on the right consonants, and while he's talking you can see, for the briefest of seconds, the wheels working behind those green eyes.

_You sound like a Japanese schoolgirl. Grab it and run._ And that's exactly what I do. Slowly I inch towards the glowing exit sign.

"Napoleon's sword." I begin to struggle furiously when the women grab an arm each, tightening their grips until I can feel it in my bones. Edward Nygma actually giggles at my expense. "Quite a big fish for a newcomer." I can't stop staring at the growing black puddle. His pointless death grinds me deeply. All respect for these people has vanished. How could they shoot a defenseless man simply for amusement, or to show off? These monsters have ruined somebody's life, whether it be this poor man's spouse or children. Somebody will get the news that their loved one was shot dead by some poorly dressed hussy.

"How dare you." We meet gazes halfway, he's all grins and I'm doing worse than glaring. My look hopefully displays my absolute displeasure. "That man did nothing."

"Oh-"

"An hypocritical do-gooder." I glance at the girl on my left.

"Yes, I am. It's much better than being an immoral-" A wonderful right hook shuts me right up. Mr. Nygma looks in the least bit shocked.

"Query, Echo, was that called for?" he tsks. "The fire truck does have a point."

_"Fire truck? Is that revenge for calling you a leprechaun?" _Imagine if I actually said that! Good thing I'm not as impulsive as. . . _certain _people. I'm actually good at holding my tongue against two raging storms - well, sardonic complaints is more accurate. Query, or Echo, I'm not sure, plucks the sword from my grasp. As they start playing Monkey In the Middle I stand on tippy toes to reach it. Shame on me for being only five three.

"Please, give it back!" I shouldn't be condoning this; they can have the sword if they want it that bad, I'll be perfectly fine taking up a job as a stripper to fund a tiny apartment near the Narrows.

"Query, give it back." he says. Query sulks but hands it over.

"Thank you." I reply. The Riddler begins walking away from the group, and he even steps into the black puddle. I watch the burgundy foot steps trail off into the other room. Neither the Riddler or his body guards reply with words, only leaving me alone with the empty corridor.

Alone until a window shatters behind me.

There he crouches, glowing eyes glaring from the mass of pitch black. The Batman, the Dark Knight, my fear. Elizabeth and Amelia are trembling with fear, I'm far too shocked to respond physically. A week ago, Amelia talked about how Batman wouldn't scare her. She said that there is nothing scary about a man playing dress up with a gothic Easter bunny mask. Yeah, we absolutely one hundred percent agree that this man is terrifying.

I turn and run, following the sequenced fading foot prints until I crash into Edward Nygma, my ticket to a new life crashing to the ground along with us.


	8. Chapter 8

Suave** Leprechaun- could it be? Could little ole mediocre me have an honest to god fan? My, your two reviews have made me feel elated, Mr. Suave Leprechaun. It's reviews like yours that keep me going long after I feel the steam diminish. And to make it all the better you point out that I do have flaws to work on, and that I should double check my writing a bit harsher than I do. I apologize for not updating as often as I'd like to. Oh, and the comment about how well I write Amelia made me smile. There is always a piece of me in every one of my characters.**

**BookLover- Here's your update, served hot on a silver platter. :)**

* * *

_Wednesday_

My day started with no breakfast, no polite wake up call, just a loving six A.M. smack from Edith.

"You have to get up Amy, school starts in an hour." She yanked open my simple linin curtains while I nursed a stinging shoulder. My other hand stretched up to wipe the night away from my eyes. Edith bustled around my pristine room like a normal mother would, running her finger over my furniture. "And you're dusting today, the whole house." I opened my mouth to complain. "And don't smart off to me. It's been a dry year and it's the least you can do after taking my money, stupid little thief."

I crawl out of bed before the shame can swallow me down. Elizabeth has found a new hobby of pick pocketing, and Edith just so happened to be the perfect target.

"I'm taking a shower." She was still babbling as I twisted the cut glass door knob.

"Hey, I was talking to you!" She followed until I locked the bathroom door. "And don't forget to do the laundry today."

"I won't, just go away!" You could say I'm asking for it when I talk to her like this, the snaps and yells, running away when Her Majesty is griping, but she's the one who started it all. My bitten remarks are simply retaliation for everything she's done.

_You should try to be more respectful. _Lizzie always tries to make it my fault, this morning was no different. _You've gotten yourself stuck in a cycle. _

Jon was already waiting at the bus stop. I sprinted to join him despite the heavy clothing. As always Edith put me into the thick dresses complete with girdles and petticoats. The mid length sleeves felt awkward on my underarms. Pink and lacy today. The stockings itched and locked in the heat. My old-fashioned skirts acted like an oven. Whoever said dresses offer more air flow needs to spend a summer day under Edith's stylistic thumb.

"Good morning, please tell me you brought them." Lucky Jonathan gets to dress somewhat normally, all collared shirts and jeans. I'll be stuck dressing like a Victorian lady for the rest of my existence.

"Yeah, you'll need them." He looked me up and down. "A lot."

"We're in high school now, can you believe it?" I pulled off my thin jacket. "And I'm still dressing like a little kid."

"Could be worse. You could be going to school in your underwear." He turned his face to me. On his thin lips, running vertically, was a deep crusty gash. Jon tried to turn away from me, looking down to the sand.

"Jonathan, look at me." He refuses.

"Johnny Keeny!" I snagged his chin in an iron grip. The split was a deep rust color, standing out against his sunburnt face. I bite down on my lip.

"It's nothing." Jonathan started to turn towards the short corn stalks. "Just let it go."

"I'm gonna kill her." Rage began to bubble, Georgia had nothing on the heat in my head. "I'm gonna hold her down and kill her."

We stayed silent until the bus showed up. All the other students decided to play grade schoolers by continuously calling me little Bo Peep. Happy freshman year.

* * *

_Elizabeth_

"You made me drop my Chinese puzzle box."

"And Rodent Man made me drop six point five million dollars in history, gold, and bragging rights. Now help me pull this thing off."

She was running, that's all I know. I personally couldn't see Batman at all, just a bunch of shadows. It's like when you're at a show and something happens, but you're too distracted by something stupid like a butterfly or a sexy Johnny Depp look-alike. You just gotta believe it and not call your comrades crazy. The mind went on red-alert when B-man showed up. Lizzie started to visibly lose it, Aims took over the internal terror of facing down six feet of buff guy in a bat suit, and I looked around wondering what they were going on about. We had to remind Liz'beth that, yes, legs are useful for boldly fleeing the scene of a crime.

"Such a big fish for a newcomer." he smugly told me. I was perfectly capable of running off and auctioning the sword on the black market. I could have gotten away with it. Thanks, Batman. France will be pleased to hear that your bat-shaped boomerang left a dent in the blade. Shouldn't you have been at the bomb threat hooblah?

In her haste, Lizzie smacked right into Edward Nygma's shoulder. She left me to deal with the bloody nose.

That was twenty minutes ago. Twenty minutes of me and Edward running through back alleys and dodging traffic. Gotham: Where even the highways are psychotic. What matters is the now.

We're standing at the dead-end of a smoggy alleyway. The smoke drifts up from the ground, making the puddles look like they're steaming. Empty bottles and cans, illegibly wet newspapers, what I think is a condom, and a blinking orange street light unnerve me. Only a quick glance to the black void above the looming brick walls can free me from the stuffy fog. Our fingers dig into the edges of a man-hole. I am not looking forward to when we pry it open. My finger tips scream from the strain.

"Alright, you go first." I nod down to the deep hole. A line of rungs leads down into the abyss. Edward reaches into his blazer.

"Ladies first." Before I can tell what he's doing, I'm staring into the eye of a flashlight. He clicks it on, blinding me into stumbling back.

"Hey, careful you jerk!" I recover and reach for the pocket mag light. Spots are still dancing in my vision no matter how hard I rub. It turns to tunnel vision the more I rub. "My eyes don't adjust that well." We both stare down at the now lit up rungs. Their thin shadows cut across the crumbling bricks. "You first, I'll fall and break my neck." I can't stop staring at the bottomless pit, noting how the flash light's beam doesn't reach the bottom.

I try not to notice how he maneuvers down into the hole. His slender, yet still strong, body shifts underneath the suit, making it bunch up in places. I briefly catch a glimpse of his lower back, covered in a white dress shirt, just above the belt line. And believe it or not, I feel scandalous.

In a way he is rather handsome. Strands of his hair has slipped from the subtle hair gel glaze, flopping against his forehead which leads down to a slightly curved nose. His eyes would be average if they weren't so mischievous. There is a manic glint no matter what light they're in. He's pretty hot until he opens his mouth.

He's gone before I can finish observing.

"Are you coming?" To follow or not to follow, that is the question. If I follow him, I'll either get away or he'll dump my prone body in the river. Maybe I can make it back to the hotel without any trouble. But alas, poor me hears a pair of heavy boots stomping in my direction. I don't see anything when I turn, so I'm left to believe that the Batman is on my tail. You know, I just can't see him.

"Yep, coming." Edward's face meets my foot.

"What the hell are you-" Edward says from under my heel.

"Giant Gothic furry coming down the alley." I try to get him to hurry on down the ladder. I kick him several more times until we're ankle-deep in god knew what. "This. Is. Disgusting." A trio of rats scattered under the flashlight beam, and I swear a slick furred beast rubs against my leg. I won't be setting up camp in this place any time soon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Suave Leprechaun- I've been practicing for years, so I've gotten better over time. Thank you for the support.**

**Book Lover- well you can't have an enemy of the Bat be a good girl, now can you? ;)**

**Smart Person 99- Hello! I always love seeing reviews from new people! And I'm very glad you like her. I've done a lot of research into DID (or multiple personality disorder, as it is more commonly called) and still feel that she's a bit stereotypical. Nowadays she seems a bit more mellowed out, so I hope I'm getting better. It's reviews like this convince me to keep writing. Thank you for the support, brosive.  
**

**And now an announcement! I'm changing the name of this story. Either "Arkham's League of Extraordinary Redheads" or "Where Very Nice Things Go". Any ideas or objections will be noted. I also have a Tumblr now! Follow me at Sally Cheffon, if you'd like.**

**Reviews speed up updates!**

_Lizzie_

Dad decided it would be okay to hold me a bit late from class, seeing as my tardy record is near perfect. He actually made breakfast for Edith and I. She seemed. . . pleasant with him here, but I know that once he's back on a plane to Europe she'll go back to normal.

So, in short, I missed ten minutes of geometry for pancakes. Worth it.

He drove me to school in his new Volvo 240. White, leather interior, straight off the line and into the lot. I went with him to buy it. It's a holiday car, really, as he doesn't spend much time in the states. I get the Chevy Vega, thank god.

The sun was already high in the sky when we pull up to the school. The brick hell loomed over me, an ancient two-story school-house located on the outskirts of Arlen. The new school sat behind it, almost complete. Instead of being a good little girl, I hide in the family restroom next to the gym. Now we play the waiting game. Jonathan will stop at the water fountain, and I'll drag him in with me.

So Jon showed up as per usual, carrying his too stuffed backpack. I demanded to have the clothes he picked out that day.

Dad thinks I dress like this because I want to, so Jonathan and I came up with a brilliant solution. We both end the school day with study hall; the only class you can cut if it's the last period. We start walking towards home and on the way we stop at downtown, where I buy some cheap, school-appropriate clothes. Jon keeps them stuffed under his mattress, then when morning comes I rush to the nearest bathroom to change. He is, of course, surprised that I drag him into the bathroom.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay. Gimme gimme gimme." I began bouncing on my heels. We have five minutes for a quick change performance. Jon turns while I strip.

"I didn't think you'd show up." I finish fastening the shoulder straps. Today was a white overall caprices and a blue blouse. A bright red scrunchy and a stain of lipstick livened up the outfit. "Bo almost started digging around in my bag. Stopped him though, so I won't have to be called a cross-dresser. Maybe you should just tell your dad about Edith." Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"First off, tried that. Didn't buy it. Second, guess who now has complete personal access to the car." Jonathan rips the band-aid from his nose. I watch him grimace. "So we're going to the drive in tonight, before I lose my privileges."

"What will we see?" he asked, zipping up his bag.

"Pink Flamingos."

* * *

_Amelia_

The arched roof looms over us. Strings of some Lovecraftian ooze occasionally knocks me off track. I keep telling myself not to touch the damp moss on the bricks. Edward strolls after the flashlight's beam as if this is a weekend walk so I try to keep up despite the occasional stumble.

I shouldn't be following this guy. The thudding in my chest keeps reminding me. "Excuse me, but where exactly are we going?" I sound polite, educated, and timid.

He glances over his shoulder. "_I'm_ going where ever I decide. Alone. _You_ can go where ever you please." We step around a rusty pipe.

The timid levels begin to rise as I'm not sure how to respond, but I tell the truth. "Well, I don't really know where I'm going. I know nothing about this city." He steps over a gap in the walkway easily. I end up almost tripping. Our voices bounce around the dank and smelly tunnel, back-dropped by invisible rushing water and menacing drip drops.

"You only learn by failure. And if failure means you'll fall into the sewage and drown then I'm not complaining." he says. Who does this man think he is, talking to me like that? We don't know each other and I respect that, plus I foiled his heist. But that does not give him the right to act so superior and waspy. I harshly grab his arm.

"Excuse me? Thanks to you I was almost tased last week. Now, I may have ruined your ridiculous puzzle scheme, but you ruined my jewelry store robbery. An eye for an eye, you could say, and I don't appreciate your attitude." As soon as I'm back on street level I'm having a Kinder Egg. I dread going back to the hotel. It's a dusty place that you pay for by week, and my cash is running out. A few necklaces should take care of that, but then what? This situation has raised so many questions.

_Can't we just ditch the guy? I think that would be a lot easier_. She's exactly right.

_Really, Amelia. We should just get off at the next station. Or manhole whatnot. _Lizzie says a bit bitterly. I storm pass him. My shoulder bumps his upper arm, a sign that I should consider wearing heels if I want to come off as opposing.

"Well hopefully we won't be running into each other again." I freeze in both my words and walking. There's something in the sewers with us. I can hear it, the loud footsteps and creaky hisses bouncing off the walls and back to me. It's big and it's ugly and I don't know what to think of it. This thing, if I'm not loosing my mind, is somewhere down the sewer line. "Do you hear that?" I whisper as quietly as possible.

"Yeah." He lifts a finger to his thin lips. Edward mouths something about staying quiet as if I hadn't gotten the message. Three more sloshing steps and a harsh sniffing, I saw it. It, not him. Hims do not have scales and stand at seven feet.

That was it. That image did me in. Somewhat human, the monster towered as a shadow near the end of the tunnel, basked in a yellow emergency light. It's stubby face ended in a maw of browning teeth. Two unblinking eyes scanned over Edward and I, and my eyes locked on him. He seemed so far away until I blinked a couple of times. My horror only heightened the details, told me what should be there. I fumbled into my pocket until I felt the cold plastic of my bioptics. This kind of horror needed details only reserved for street signs.

"What the hell is that?"

"Go."

"What?"

_Don't argue, leave his egotistical ass!_

_"You'll just leave him to die? We are not that cruel. I won't let you be."_

It was the classic angel-devil conscious.

"Just go! I'll handle this." He holds his cane like one would hold a shot-gun.

_Not until he tells me what that thing is! _Elizabeth roots my feet to the ground, hands fisted and wide-eyed. While I may be in control of our mind I've lost all messaging to my body. I push and strain but go nowhere.

"Fine, but tell me why there's a giant reptilian creature in your sewer system?" We both turn and dash. That thing bolts towards us, teeth gnashing and clawed, webbed hands grabbing at our backs.


End file.
